


Grounded

by Avenging_is_My_Day_Job



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fake Character Death, Gen, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 07:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14232285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avenging_is_My_Day_Job/pseuds/Avenging_is_My_Day_Job
Summary: He only dreamed of caves and bombs and suffocating in a void while a nuclear explosion tore apart a Chitauri warship.





	Grounded

Tony returned to the tower in the late afternoon, when the sun was low behind the cityscape and the sky was a rich sapphire colour. The suit disassembled around him as he strode across the balcony and entered the lounge, taking one last relaxing breath of the crisp, fresh air before the door closed.

"Something come up?"

Ah, there it is. He knew that the others didn't approve of his regular, casual flights around New York. To be fair, sometimes he ventured further out. He'd be gone for hours, out of their hair for a large portion of the day, testing his suits or just appreciating the freeing nature of repulsor technology. At least they trusted him enough to not automatically assume that he was only going out to entertain himself.

"Actually, no," he replied, slipping into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The pot wasn't full, but he was glad to see there was enough for at least one more serving. Maybe that was the wrong answer, judging by the look on Natasha's face. Oh well.

"It's relaxing," he explained. "Great way to blow off steam." The assassin nodded, understanding. She didn't seem entirely convinced, but it was apparently enough. He wasn't really sure there _was_ any other reason. 

There was something about being so high above everything that was just so... _surreal_. He could fly as high as the suit would carry him, or fall until Jarvis interfered and took over. 

_Maybe I should test that..._

_No._

"You could join one of us in a sparring session, you know," Natasha suggested. 

"As immensely satisfying as that would be," Tony replied, frowning, "It won't be worth having my ass kicked by people that could literally snap me in half like a twig. Or murder me with a shoelace." The coffee was cold. He poured the rest out and started washing the pot out. 

"The offer stands," she shrugged, then left the kitchen, and Tony standing there alone, wondering how far he could fall.

* * *

The workshop windows were blacked out, courtesy of the world's _finest_ AI, and Tony was positive there was someone on the other side.

He had music blasting from the speakers, drowning out the sporadic banging on the door, and grounding him in what had to be the worst panic attack so far. So far _lately_. They had begun to subside after the team had established a routine, once they weren't tiptoeing around one another. 

He should have known it wouldn't last.

He opened his mouth to tell Jarvis to raise the temperature, but only a strangled noise came out. He was on his back, looking up at the ceiling when the warm lights overhead became harsh lights in his face while hands reached into his chest, and he knows -knows because of Dum-E’s concerned whirring nearby- he knows that the pain in his chest isn’t there. He’s in New York, he’s in the tower. 

He clutched the arc reactor in his chest, breaths coming in rapid succession, and he pressed his back to the side of his desk. He shivered, because the room was cold even if Jay turned the heat on, it was cold just like the cave was, and _shit_ the breaths were turning shallow because the reactor was imposing on thirty percent of his lung capacity and whoever was outside banging on the door wasn't worried, they were _angry_ and he _knew_ that it was one of his friends, but all he could hear and see were angry, unfamiliar faces shouting at him to build the Jericho and _damn it all that he didn't die in that wormhole_...

A soft whirring somewhere to his left suddenly drew him from his quiet rambling, and he finally dared to open his eyes. 

_Good_ , this was his workshop in New York. It hadn't all been a fever dream induced by infection in his chest, or hallucinations brought on by the palladium poisoning. Had that been a symptom? He didn't think so, but no sense in not being safe.

Dum-E was by his side. Beeping softly. Holding a blanket in his claw. Tony's breathing evened out somewhat, and he looked up with relief, taking the blanket gratefully. It smelled like a garage and had a handful of grease stains on it, but that was what he needed. He pulled it around his shoulders, clutching it tightly, watching the the bot roll away, towards the kitchenette where he fumbled with plastic cups and bruised fruit and a can of oil.

Tony could help but choke out a laugh, distracted by Dum-E's antics. He shivered, waiting for his body to still before pulling himself off the ground by the edge of the desk. 

His heart was still beating at an uncomfortable pace, so he shuffled over to a stool and sat down, weakened by the exertion. 

Jarvis helpfully lowered the volume, allowing the soft and comforting sounds of his workshop to flood his senses. 

"Who was at the door, Jay?" He croaked, leaning forward over the desk, head resting in the crook of his arms.

" _Captain Rogers, sir. He was insistent that you join himself and the other Avengers in_ \- "

"Shit, I know, I know." It was team bonding night. _Fuck_.

" _I believe it would be I'll advised to do so, however,_ " the AI added.

He could do that. Easy-peasy.

* * *

Tony spends most of his time holed up in his workshop.

 _That's not a bad thing,_ he thought, when the realization struck him. His days were balanced between work, and losing himself in flight. He could do most of his projects for SI in the comfort of the tower, which worked out perfectly for the team, since they needed his expertise as well. Every mission thrust new problems their way, either with their gear or their weapons. 

Not strong enough. Not compact enough. Not silent enough. Too flashy.

He relished the challenge of making his own inventions better. Maybe they only saw him as a mechanic, who knows, but he was truly in his element. Plus, he _owed_ it to them. To keep them safe and to ensure that his creations didn't fail them. It was his responsibility.

He can't change the past. Ceasing weapons production didn't revive those that lost their lives. He couldn't go back in time and stop the construction of his tower before the invasion. _That wasn't his fault. If Loki didn't use the tower, he would have found something else._ But then again, the image of those monsters flooding the city, pouring through the portal directly overhead the tower with his _name_ on it would forever be seared into his memory.

"Bruce made paella for dinner. You coming up or what?"

Tony shook his head, hissing in pain when a loose wire shocked his hand. He picked up the needle nose pliers he had dropped onto the tabletop.

"C'mon, man. You missed the last _six_ meals with us. Can't you pretend to be sociable for the night?"

"Persuasive," He drawled, keeping his eyes fixed on the device in his hands. "You didn't miss me the last six times, you won't miss me one more. This stuff needs to get done, and no one else here can do it."

"Suit yourself," Clint sighed and went back upstairs to join the rest of the team for dinner.

" _Sir,_ " Jarvis chimed, interrupting the silence that fell over the room, " _Miss Potts has asked me to remind you that your presence in Malibu is necessary for a board of directors meeting._ "

"Next week, I know," he replied, "I'll be there."

_Leaving the team alone for a week or more? Irresponsible._

There had to be balance somewhere. If it meant flying across the country a few times a year, then so be it. He was prepared to return on a moment's notice should the need arise. Jarvis didn't interrupt again, and Tony found comfort in the mechanical droning of the workshop. The bots whirred and the equipment hummed, and for once, he didn't want to drown it all out with AC/DC or Zeppelin. 

He finished a few hours later, bidding the bots goodnight before securing the room and going upstairs to the penthouse. A good night's rest was in order, and no amount of caffeine or adrenaline fueled ' _gadget binges_ ' could keep him awake much longer. It didn't help that he had already been awake for nearly three days straight now, with only a handful of power naps to keep him from collapsing.

But finally laying on his bed, he found he still couldn't sleep. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion and his vision unfocused and strained, but his thoughts from earlier in the evening kept drifting back to the forefront of his mind. 

New York was his fault. 

_No it wasn't_.

Ceasing weapons production didn't change a thing. That much was true. People were still dying in droves, and he couldn't protect them. His new product lines were being celebrated and criticized all at once. What good is something new, if it was only created to assauge it's creator's guilt? They accused him of changing direction because there was more money to be made from medical equipment and more advanced computers. 

He eventually drifted into sleep, but he only dreamed of caves and bombs and suffocating in a void while a nuclear explosion tore apart a Chitauri warship.

* * *

"You put in for a _month_."

Tony sighed, giving Steve a rather unimpressed look. "Yes," he said, "I have a multi-billion dollar company to run. I have deadlines to meet and meetings to go to."

"You've been doing most of that here, haven't you? What changed?"

_I need a break._

"This is a tough business, Cap. This is just one of those instances where I absolutely _have_ to go. You can still contact me if there's an alert."

"And wait who knows how long for you to actually get here?"

_Just give me a break here._

"I'm sorry, Cap. This is how it has to be."

Tony didn't give Steve the chance to argue. He had planned on joining the team for the evening, relaxing a little and maybe even having fun, but if it was going to devolve into a disagreement before the others even got there...

And why couldn't Steve understand? The man was the embodiment of duty and responsibility, so why did Tony leaving town for his company bother him so much? 

_That's right_. To Steve, Tony Stark was selfish. He didn't care about his teammates. He wasn't good enough. At least two of those things were true, but Tony wouldn't ever outwardly agree with the man. For all he knew it would just turn into another squabble.

He shuffled past Clint and Natasha on his way to the elevator, mumbling a soft goodbye before disappearing once more. Natasha peered over her shoulder as the elevator doors drifted closed, humming softly.

Tony thought he noticed her look back, but at that point he didn't particularly care. This was it for him. New York. Being a part of a team. 

" _To your suite, sir?_ "

"The workshop. I need to finalize some things before the trip."

" _Very well._ " Tony scowled at the AI's disapproving tone.

The elevator stopped a short time later and he made his way into the workshop. "Initialize lockdown. I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the evening."

The windows frosted, blocking visual from outside the room, and the entry locks engaged. Relaxing slightly, Tony collapsed into a padded rolling chair and pulled up several digital files. He made quick work of organizing the most important things to something that was legible. It was at least to _him_. The others wouldn't want to sort through his jumbled thoughts, so he could at least spare them the files.

When he was satisfied with his work, and had double checked the team's recent upgrades to be _positive_ they were in working condition, the clock read almost midnight.

"Now's a good a time as any," he muttered, pushing away from the desk.

" _I urge you to reconsider_ \- "

"Mute."

Silence fell over the workshop once more, and Tony left everything as it was.

* * *

Nothing of note happened during his planned absence, so the team had no reason to summon him back to New York. Clint and Natasha took a mission shortly after his departure, Bruce went to a convention in Britain for a week, Thor had already departed Midgard for his princely duties, and Steve...

Well, he had resolved not to spend the next few weeks moping around the tower, so he had taken a short mission available from SHIELD.

When they each returned, it was to Pepper Potts awaiting them on the common floor, standing stiffly in the lounge while they filed in from their respective adventures. The atmosphere changed drastically, tense silence falling over the team. 

"Miss Potts," Steve greeted, offering a polite nod. She returned the gesture, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"Where's Tony?" Bruce asked, scanning the occupants of the room for the familiar face. 

"That's why I'm here," Pepper began. "He's missing. He called when he left the tower, and I haven't heard from him since."

"No one told us," Natasha mused 

"You were busy." Didn't need the distraction. She sent Bruce an apologetic look, and he gave a minute nod in understanding. Couldn't have the Hulk crashing a crowded event.

"SHIELD hasn't found anything," she continued, somber. "But I'm sure you'll be able to access the case files better than I could."

"We'll keep you informed," Natasha promised.

Any other time, the evening would have consisted of delivery food, and some light-hearted movies to dispel the tension that lingered after missions. After Pepper left, they spent the evening gathered around the lounge, fussing over the revelation. 

It didn't take Clint long at all to get ahold of the case file. The more they read, the worse it got. No ransom demands. No proud declarations to the world. 

No quiet chatter or whispers amongst the double agents monitoring criminal activity.

When the idea to check the labs and workshop actually struck someone, only Bruce's access code worked. He sifted through the room carefully, struggling not to lose hope when he found the upgrades, specs, and files left out for them each to find.

"It doesn't mean anything," he said, leaving the workshop. "It doesn't."

* * *

There was something so serene and beautiful about places like this. Something so peaceful. The waves were restless, and every so often water would thrash against the jagged, rocky cliff-face. Faint squawking could be heard from the nooks and crevices that sea birds perched in, scanning the water for their next meals. Sarah Fox paddled her kayak through the water, resting when the water swelled and pushing forward when it calmed. She looked towards the coast, spotting a patch of land jutting out from the side of the cliff.

This place wasn't frequented by much of anyone. Sarah knew this when she paddled her kayak closer to the outcropping. Inaccessible from anywhere but the water, vacationers tended to flock to the sandier beaches a few miles away. Locals didn't bother with it. It was too far from down anyway, and the hike down to the water was too arduous. It wasn't pretty, either. Almost entirely grey, barring the murky blue-green of the water itself, and the grass that poked over the edge of the cliff. The rocks were a splatter of different shades though, some were dark with moisture, others were bone dry and sun bleached. 

She paddled closer to her newly discovered destination, cutting through the milder waves before she rounded the curve and turned towards the rocks. 

"Oh, shit."

Barely visible behind a particularly large boulder protruding from the mud and gravel, there was a blob of orange. Or something that used to be orange. So she paddled closer. She repeated her earlier exclamation as the view of the object changed. The more she moved, the closer she got, the more of it she saw. It was a heap of twisted metal and shattered glass - the remains of a car that had hit the rocks nose first. 

The water swept her kayak over to the shoreline, so she hopped out and dragged it up onto the rocks behind her. Setting it down gently, Sarah trekked across the uneven surface, stepping over large stones that had been smoothed over by the merciless tides.

The mangled vehicle was clearly not a new addition to the landscape. It had been there a while, maybe a few weeks by the looks of it. There was mud and grime coating the sides, and rust from the saltwater eating away at the metal on the lower half of the exposed framework. A quick glance through the shattered windshield confirmed that it was empty, but it was only a small comfort. She walked around to the side of the car, peering into the broken window at the interior. With a quiet gasp, her hand retreated to her side and she stepped back, toeing the stones behind her so she didn't lose her footing.

The interior of the car was covered in blood.

She hadn't seen it at first, but the sun shone down and illuminated the contrast between the stains in the leather, and the colour of the leather itself. It was on the steering wheel and the back of the seat, and she looked down at the outside of the car, horrified. It wasn't mud that was smeared on the paint, but blood, where the driver had climbed through the window and over the door.

She searched the small beach for any signs of life, but saw no one. Her thoughts drifted to stories about cars being found in lakes, decades after the drivers and passengers had gone missing. If she hadn't found this, how long would it have been before someone else had? This wasn't a tourist destination, or even someplace that was often visited - _clearly_ \- a few feet away she spotted debris, and remnants of orange paint scraped across the surface of stone. Likely where the impact was. Depending on how long the car had been there, tides and currents could have easily pulled it away from it's resting place.

Tension bleeding from her body when she realised that she was, in fact, alone on the beach, Sarah went back to her kayak to grab her waterproof travel bag. She sifted through the contents, fumbling with her cell phone to call emergency services to report her find to the authorities.

* * *

The story made the evening news before the Avengers even got wind of it. When word had reached the nearby town, a boat had launched that got close enough to film a crane lifting the crushed, weather beaten car from the secluded little beach. The footage was grainy and taken from a distance, but had been accepted by the news station anyway.

It had become a habit of the team to gather in the lounge at night to watch the news together. Hoping for even the most minute hint that their missing friend was out there somewhere. It only took seconds for them to recognize the mangled remains of the car. The one that Tony took the night he left. His favourite.

Steve didn't give SHIELD time to cover their asses. He was the first to contact Fury, and was completely backed by Clint and Natasha in threatening the man until he faced them and explained what was going on.

So, here they were, only a few days later. Late evening hours and bled into early morning, waiting for SHIELD's forensics to confirm their fears.

After some time had passed, the door to the meeting room was pushed open, and Fury strode through. His expression was as neutral, but his lone eye spoke volumes. Natasha broke her gaze and looked down at the table, shaking her head.

"Well?" She prompted, with a burdened sigh.

"Too much time has passed since the accident, but we've gathered enough from the debris to come to the likeliest conclusion."

"How likely?" Bruce demanded, the rims of his eyes bleeding a bright - alarmingly so - shade of green. His hands clenched into fists, and he craned his neck to glare at the director.

"Over eighty percent," was the simple reply. Bruce snapped his mouth shut, carding a hand through his hair and looking away.

"So?" Steve hummed, after tense silence fell over the room. A few pairs of eyes drifted over to him, wordlessly agreeing.

Fury laid a manilla folder on the table, and Steve slid it across to open and examine. 

_S.H.I.E.L.D_  
FORENSIC REPORT  
Case #926-8412A - April 25, 2013 

He skimmed through the first few pages cataloguing items found during the investigation, not limited to the car itself and the contents of the glove box. Whoever had searched the beach had done a thorough job, and had even marked down the pile of glass shards that had been collected from between the rocks.

_... After the debris field had been marked, photographed, and catalogued, Agent [REDACTED] and Agent [REDACTED] began investigating the returned to the vehicle to continue the investigation._

_A large volume of discoloration was observed on the interior of the car, as well as on the exterior paint. Four samples were taken and tested separately, and were confirmed to be blood belonging to Anthony Stark. Also photographed were expirated spatter in the blood stains, suggesting the victim sustained major internal injuries, and transfer patterns suggesting the victim attempted to vacate the vehicle through the driver's side window._

_No fingerprints other than that belonging to the victim were found within the vehicle or the exterior. No foul play is suspected..._

Steve pushed the folder aside, and Natasha took it slowly, scanning the whole document. 

"How long was he down there?" 

"Based on his time of departure from this location, and the distance to those coordinates," Of course, factoring in Tony's speedy driving habits, "It happened just before the tide came in. Made it out onto the rocks, but got swept away by the current. Probably a riptide."

"If he hit his head or broke any bones - "

"Bruce, shut _up_ ," Clint hissed, frowning.

"He would have been disoriented. He would have drowned..."

"Just shut up," Clint's voice had gotten louder, betraying his frustration.

"If he didn't bleed out first," Fury finished, "All of it was his. Tested the sample three times to be sure."

"This is _Stark_ ," Clint insisted, crossing his arms. "There was no body. He's still out there."

"He managed to get out of the car after it hit the rocks. If he was disoriented enough," he echoed Bruce's earlier sentiment, "The rising tide would have swept him away. There's a recovery team dredging the seabed, but as I said, it's been too long. Whatever the fish didn't find is long gone." 

With a sigh, he took an empty seat and gauged the Avengers' reactions. He knew they wouldn't let it go without a fight, but looking at Rogers, he could tell that the man understood. The soldier's eyes lingered on the reports, where forensics and the medical examiners had confirmed that the volume of blood had been fatal. 

"Why tell us all of this?" Natasha asked, drawing Steve from his thoughts. "Anyone else would have just told us that he's dead."

"You deserve to know," Fury ventured. "Better to hear it from me, than to find out later."

Clint nodded, sinking into his chair. "Now that you've got us covered, what about the press?"

"Keep it quiet," Steve implored, "This doesn't need publicity. The press already knows about the car, but they don't need to know he was in it."

"Hill is already working on the press release. Potts has been informed as well. I recommend carrying on as if nothing has changed, I'll be contacting Colonel Rhodes about filling the air support position on your team -" Steve started to protest, "That _needs_ to happen. You've gotten off easy in the last few months, but if something major crops up, you'll need all the help you can get. You are dismissed."

He left no room for argument, gathering up the report before sweeping out of the room and out of the tower.

" _Fuck_ ," Clint breathed. "We could have done something."

"Jarvis couldn't call for help, there's no way we could have known," Natasha explained, pointing out part of the report that cited the car's destroyed electrical systems.

"And you think we couldn't have done something before?" The archer demanded, standing up. His chair scraped across the floor, and he glared across at Steve. "He pushed us away for weeks! If we hadn't walked all over him, he wouldn't have felt the need to run across the country to bury himself in work."

"Clint, be quiet," Natasha reprimanded. "This was a freak accident. Getting angry now won't change anything."

"I'm going down to the range," Clint grumbled, knowing to leave it alone. He brushed past the others and left, and silence fell over the room once more.

There was something ironic, if not a bit farcicle, about someone as demanding of attention and fanfare as Tony Stark going out in such an ordinary way. Then again, it was all only a mask.

* * *

He considered, just for a moment, if it were possible to fly the suit without the faceplate. 

There was the matter of bugs. And birds. _Shit_ , and wind too. How could he forget the wind? He wouldn't be able to hear Jarvis over the noise. Or do much of anything really. Mach 2 wasn't exactly a suitable speed for exposed flesh. 

Maybe he could go skydiving instead. 

That wasn't _nearly_ as exciting, but he was playing dead, not trying to actually _be_ dead.

Well, not the way things were going so far. This whole excursion was a test run, and it was going splendidly so far. 

"How long has it been, Jay?" 

" _Four months, sir_ "

"Huh, time flies, doesn't it?" 

" _Indeed_." He doesn't miss the disapproving lilt in the AI's voice. He knew that Jarvis had grown fond of the team, and missed them, and that was almost as guilt inducing as the danger he put them in by sticking around had.

"Okay, one more loop around this ridge and we're going home."

Home wasn't the tower anymore. It wasn't Malibu, or even the New York mansion. Home was a little cottage in the mountains, miles from any neighbors and prying eyes. It was a nice place, but not permanent. He had a little villa in Italy lined up, and even planned on opening a garage in town once he settled in. Here could fly the armor because he _enjoyed_ it and not because he had to test something or be somewhere. 

There were just so many reasons. And now, he didn't imagine falling every time he touched the clouds. And maybe that _still_ wasn't a healthy way of thinking, but at least he was in a better place. Right? Figuratively and literally. 

Pepper insisted that there were better ways to deal with SHIELD and the Avengers taking advantage of your skills and hospitality, and Rhodey insisted there were people you can talk to for things like this... They were the only two people on the planet Tony trusted with these things. So, no. There weren't specialists or anyone else he could talk to.

What was the point of being an eccentric billionaire if he couldn't use that to his advantage anyway?

Realising he'd gone on longer than he'd intended, he circled back around to the cabin and landed, shedding the suit as soon as his feet were on solid ground. 

This wasn't the same. _This just wasn't the same_. He knew he was giving up a lot by going through with this, but he missed his old workshop. He missed Malibu...

" _Sir, SHIELD has filed an incident report_."

"It's about time," Tony sighed, peeling off the bodysuit he always wore under the armor. "I was beginning to think it was too difficult."

He pulled up the files, and left them open whilst he gathered a fresh change of clothes and went to take a shower. He washed away the sweat and grime from working outside most of the day. The hot spray melted away the stress from being alone with his thoughts, and relaxed his tense muscles. When the water finally turned cold, he got out and toweled off, then changed into the fresh clothes.

The reports were downloaded and waiting when he finished, so he pulled up a chair and started scrolling through them. 

_Cause of Death: Undetermined_

Evidently, they were giving up, just like that. He scanned the rest of the documents, ignoring the pang of guilt that struck, before closing it all together. He ran his hands down his face and sighed.

Considering how _irrational_ he had been the night of the accident, it was surprisingly easy to pull off. An experimental suit made for stealth to get away, and a few bags of blood he'd drawn a few weeks before, and the willingness to part with one of his favourite cars.

He collected a nearly empty coffee mug he had left on the desk earlier in the morning, getting up to go to the kitchen, and then...

The whole world shook around him.

The mug shattered on the floor, and Tony stumbled across the room to grasp the doorframe. His first instinct was to run outside, survey the damage, but he knew better. The part of him that fought a horde of aliens and won _knew_. These things don't happen for no reason. 

"Jarvis, prep the suit!" He choked, eyes burning. Was that smoke? Definitely, but at least it wasn't coming from _inside_ the house.

He raced across the house, through the mess of glass on the floor of the front room, alarmed to see the trees and grass outside burning. He snapped his gaze upwards, watching an unfamiliar aircraft dart across the sky, followed shortly after by none other than the _goddamned Avengers quinjet_.

He coughed, taking a few steps back, closer to the house, and watched the two aircrafts in pursuit over the mountains. 

"Get me access to their comms," Tony said, passing the armor as he entered the house once more. The computer was undamaged, and the screen shifted, displaying something not unlike the HUD in the suit.

" _Target locked, Cap_!"

Outside, Tony heard another explosion reverberate through the otherwise quiet landscape.

" _I'm not picking up any life signs. SHIELD's response team is already on the way._ "

SHIELD crawling all over the place? No thank you. Tony shouted his frustration, slamming a hand down on the desktop before grabbing everything important to pack away. There wasn't much, _thank god, or whatever powers that be_ , since he planned on leaving in a few weeks anyway.

He threw everything he needed into a bag, draped it over his shoulder, and went back to the desk to grab the laptop when he stilled. He whirled around, dropping the bag to the floor with a loud thud.

There was a sharp intake of breath from across the room, by the front door, and Tony looked up.

Poised for a chase, shield raised defensively, Steve Rogers stood in the door, expression a stormy mix of shock and anger. If he had to guess, only Romanov was on the jet, and Barton and Rogers were on the ground. Perfectly explained how Cap got there so quickly after their triumphant win, when he didn't hear the jet anywhere near the house.

Slowly, Steve lifted a gloved hand to the side of his head, to the commlink in his cowl. Tony took the opportunity to lunge for the armor, but he was blocked by the shield. He tumbled backwards, back hitting the wall before he straightened.

He couldn't fight Steve. He didn't _want_ to. But if he didn't at least have the suit, he wouldn't make it out of this confrontation alive. 

He went for the suit again, this time ducking under a swing, but instead of swinging at _him_ , Steve threw the suit. It didn't go far, but there was enough distance between it and Tony for the soldier to tackle him to the ground.

Tony struggled against his grip, but it was only a half-hearted effort. He knew he couldn't overpower the man, but it wouldn't stop him at least trying to free himself from the bear hug of _death_ he currently found himself enveloped in.

"Fucking let _go_ ," he snapped, elbowing Steve in the ribs.

Steve held fast, with only one arm - _the superhuman bastard_ \- shouting for backup into the commlink. 

"You're not going anywhere, you asshole," Steve growled, holding him down.

Tony stopped struggling and stared across the room at the armor, glancing to the discarded bag, cursing himself for not going to Italy when he had the chance.

In a one last ditch effort, he kicked out, cursing when the weight on him didn't move. He swiped a piece of splintered wood from the shattered window and frame, swinging it over to break over Steve's shoulder. In the single moment that it awarded him, he kicked again, foot striking the soldier's sternum with enough force to shove him backward.

He clambered to his feet, almost tripping over the bag, keeping a trained eye on Steve.

"Don't do this, Stark," Steve warned, "Don't try to run away."

"Too late, Cap."

"No it isn't."

Typical Steve. Always failing to see the problem. Smoke started drifting in from outside again, and Tony couldn't stop himself from coughing. It was overwhelming and he couldn't see through the stinging in his eyes. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him away, and he lashed out. 

Something crashed into him, and his head hit the side of the desk on the way down.

* * *

When he finally started grasping at consciousness, Tony first became aware of the low vibration that came with the thrum of movement. He dragged his eyes open, first staring at the dark plating of the quinjet's interior. He counted bolts until his vision cleared, then tried to move.

Alarmed, he looked down at his arms and saw that they were bound to the sides of the gurney with padded restraints.

"Why did you do it?"

His head snapped to the other side, and he saw Bruce sitting a few feet away on one of the benches. There was green in his eyes, bleeding into brown, but the man otherwise seemed perfectly collected.

Unconsciousness chose that particular moment to creep up again, dragging Tony under once more.

* * *

_Why_.

Not _how_.

Tony let the peculiarity occupy his thoughts for a while. He'd woken up in SHIELD medical with warnings not to overexert himself because the smoke fucked with his lungs and it would be a while before things got better. 

He didn't have the energy to fight or tell at the moment. Really, he was mostly wondering what sedatives they had him on. Oh, and the other thing. _What was it?_ Right, they wanted to know why he faked his death. Not how.

It's not like he could go anywhere if he wanted to. The medics had strapped him to this bed too. He wasn't awake for that, so he didn't get the chance to chide them for getting kinky with a patient, but he was saving the remark.

"Help me understand, Stark.."

Tony looked over at the door, rolling his eyes at the sight of Steve giving him that sad puppy look. 

"In my defense, you were supposed to find the car a _lot_ sooner," he breathed, head falling back onto the pillow.

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Really? Because right now, I'm being pumped full of sedatives when all I need is oxygen therapy..." The rant tapered off into coughing, and he glared at the other man.

"To keep you here," Steve said, walking further into the room. "It's going to take a lot of work before your deemed mentally stable after all that."

"The whole point of leaving was avoiding the work," Tony pointed out 

"I'm not just talking about you. We _all_ messed up, so we're all going to fix it."

"Is that so?"

"That's a promise. I've already lost people I've cared about, Tony. I'm not letting you be the next."

Tony was, by that point, struggling to keep focused on the conversation. He didn't respond, allowing the words to process while the sedatives made quick work of pulling him under once more.


End file.
